Morning sunlight streamed through the apartment windows as Soo-jin methodically unpacked the groceries from her early shopping trip. Each item found its designated place like the vegetables in the refrigerator's lower drawer, rice in the cabinet beside the stove, toiletries arranged with military precision in the bathroom. The familiar ritual of organizing helped center her thoughts, creating order in a space that had been frozen since her sister's accident.
As she placed the last package of ramen in the cupboard, Soo-jin glanced at the clock. Time to prepare for her first official day at Hankuk Elite Academy. The orientation and tour had given her a glimpse of the institution, but today would truly begin her first day at this school.
She changed into the school's uniform with deliberate care, adjusting the crisp white blouse and green blazer until they sat perfectly on her frame. Unlike Min-ah, who had always worn the uniform according to exact regulations, Soo-jin made subtle modifications loosening the tie ribbon slightly for better mobility, wearing shorts beneath the skirt rather than the prescribed tights. Small rebellions that wouldn't draw attention but would allow her to move freely if necessary.
Standing before Min-ah's mirror, Soo-jin barely recognized herself. The uniform transformed her, erasing the fighter vibe and replacing her with the image of a perfect model student. Only her eyes betrayed the truth sharp, observant, carrying a purpose that went far beyond academics.
"First day of the mission," she murmured to her reflection, adjusting her hair into a simple ponytail. No elaborate styling like many of her future classmates would sport practicality over appearance, always.
The apartment felt different as she prepared to leave no longer just a memorial to Min-ah, but now a base of operations. She had cleared space on one wall the night before, ready to become her investigation board once she began collecting information. For now, it remained blank, awaiting the threads she would gather.
Locking the door behind her, Soo-jin headed down the stairs and out into the morning bustle. The route to Hankuk was straightforward, a twenty-minute walk that would become her daily routine in the future. As she walked, other students in identical uniforms began to appear, emerging from luxury apartments and being dropped off by expensive cars. The contrast between their obvious wealth and her modest circumstances couldn't have been clearer.
She kept her distance, maintaining a bubble of solitude even as the stream of students grew denser. Her eyes cataloged details with practiced precision which students walked alone, which moved in groups, how they interacted, who commanded attention, who avoided it. The social dynamics were already apparent even outside school grounds.
Some students traveled in boisterous clusters, laughter punctuating their morning conversations. Others walked alone, faces buried in books or phones. A few moved with the distinct confidence of those who knew their position was secure these, Soo-jin noted particularly, would likely be the upper echelon of Hankuk's social hierarchy.
Throughout her observations, Soo-jin maintained her anonymity, eyes forward, pace steady, expression neutral. Better to be forgettable at first, to watch and learn before drawing attention. Min-ah had been noticed immediately her brilliant academic performance had put a target on her back from day one. Soo-jin made sure that she wouldn't make the same mistake.
The comfortable silence of her walk lasted until Hankuk's imposing gates came into view. The stone pillars marked the threshold between the ordinary world and the ecosystem she had come to infiltrate. Just as she was steeling herself to cross this boundary, a hand suddenly waved enthusiastically before her face.
Soo-jin's reflexes activated instantly her muscles tensing to grab the offending limb and lock it into submission. Years of training had conditioned her body to react to unexpected movements with defensive precision. At the last moment, she caught herself, transforming the motion into a more measured response, simply swatting the hand away with controlled restraint.
"Good morning, Soo-jin!" Hee-chul's familiar voice accompanied his bright smile. He stood before her in his slightly modified uniform the standard blazer replaced with his signature colorful jacket that somehow didn't violate dress code while still standing out dramatically. "Ready for your first official day? Exciting, right?"
Soo-jin suppressed a sigh. Of all the students at Hankuk, why did the human equivalent of a spotlight have to attach himself to her? His vibrant energy directly contradicted her plan to blend into the background.
Without responding, she resumed walking, passing through the gates with deliberate steps. Hee-chul, undeterred by her silence, fell into pace beside her, his longer legs easily matching her stride.
"I got here extra early to make sure I didn't miss you," he continued, seemingly unbothered by her lack of response. "Thought you might appreciate a friendly face on your first day. New schools can be intimidating, you know? Even fancy ones like this."
The school grounds were more active than they had been during orientation students filling the courtyards and walkways, the atmosphere charged with the particular energy of an academic day beginning. Despite the pristine landscaping and architectural grandeur, the scene was remarkably ordinary teenagers gathering, talking, reviewing notes, some rushing to complete forgotten homework.
Hee-chul maintained a steady stream of commentary as they walked, his voice becoming white noise against the backdrop of Soo-jin's observations. She mentally noted security cameras positioned at strategic points, the subtle presence of staff monitoring the grounds, the invisible boundaries that seemed to separate different student groups.
"—and then I met some other students from our class yesterday after you left," Hee-chul was saying as Soo-jin tuned back into his monologue. "Interesting bunch. One guy who's apparently some national math champion, and a girl whose family owns half the buildings in Gangnam. Oh, and I also got to meet our class advisor."
This captured Soo-jin's attention, though she maintained her neutral expression.
"Bad vibes from that one," Hee-chul continued, lowering his voice slightly despite his perpetual cheerfulness. "Can't explain it exactly. On paper, everything checks out—impressive credentials, perfect recommendations, the whole package. But something felt... off. Like he was wearing a mask that didn't quite fit him."
"Maybe you're overthinking it," Soo-jin replied dryly, her first words since his appearance. Her tone was dismissive, but she mentally filed away his observation. Hee-chul, for all his excessive energy, didn't strike her as someone prone to baseless suspicions.
They entered the main building, joining the stream of students dispersing to their assigned classrooms. Unlike the chaos Soo-jin had observed in public schools, the transition was remarkably orderly students proceeding directly to their destinations without the typical pushing or loitering in hallways. Another sign of the rigid structure that governed Hankuk's operations.
Their classroom was located on the fourth floor, at the end of a corridor lined with motivational quotes from famous scholars. Class 1-A, as indicated by the plaque beside the door—the most prestigious first-year class, reserved for the highest academic achievers and those with the most influential backgrounds.
As Soo-jin pushed open the door, the buzz of conversation inside immediately ceased. Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance, examining the newcomers with expressions ranging from casual curiosity to calculated assessment. The momentary silence felt weighted, as though an unspoken evaluation was taking place.
Hee-chul, seemingly immune to social tension, broke the quiet with his characteristic enthusiasm. "Good morning, everyone!" he called out, waving as though greeting old friends rather than relative strangers. "Beautiful day to expand our minds, isn't it?"
Some students offered courteous nods or murmured greetings in response; others returned to their conversations with barely concealed disinterest. The response was noticeably cooler than what his friendly overture warranted—another data point in Soo-jin's growing assessment of Hankuk's social dynamics.
Ignoring the attention, Soo-jin surveyed the room with practiced casualness. Twenty-four desks arranged in neat rows, windows along one wall offering views of the meticulously maintained grounds, a digital smartboard at the front. The students themselves presented the expected image of elite education—uniforms pristine, postures confident, conversations conducted in measured tones.
She selected a seat midway through the classroom, beside a window—strategic positioning that would allow her to observe both the teacher and her classmates while maintaining peripheral awareness of the corridor outside. Perfect for gathering information while avoiding becoming the center of attention.
Hee-chul, predictably, claimed the desk beside hers, abandoning a group of students he had been chatting with before her arrival. He set down his designer backpack and immediately resumed his one-sided conversation.
"This seating arrangement won't last long," he informed her, arranging his belongings with surprising neatness. "Professor Kang that's our advisor apparently believes in assigning seats based on some complex algorithm involving academic performance, personality assessments, and probably astrological compatibility." He chuckled at his own joke. "But until then, we're free to choose. Lucky us, right?"
Soo-jin allowed herself a small sigh as she removed a notebook and pen from her modest backpack. The day stretched before her like an endurance test—classes to attend, dynamics to observe, connections to map, all while maintaining her cover as a serious scholarship student. And apparently, managing Hee-chul's incessant commentary would be an additional challenge.
As the final bell approached, more students filtered into the classroom, each arrival shifting the invisible web of relationships that Soo-jin was beginning to discern. She noted who acknowledged whom, which students commanded automatic respect, which were subtly ostracized despite their efforts to blend in. The patterns were familiar from any school, but here they carried additional weight potential connections to whatever had happened to Min-ah.
The classroom door opened once more, and a subtle shift in atmosphere indicated this wasn't another student. Conversations hushed, postures straightened, phones disappeared into pockets. Professor Kang had arrived for the first official day of class.
Soo-jin straightened in her seat, focusing all her senses on this new arrival. The man who entered moved with practiced confidence, his expression pleasant but unreadable. Nothing in his appearance immediately suggested the "bad vibes" Hee-chul had mentioned just another well-dressed faculty member ready to mold the minds of Korea's future elite.
But as his gaze swept across the room, briefly meeting Soo-jin's with a flicker of something unidentifiable, she felt a chill of recognition. Not of the man himself, but of what he represented the system that had failed to protect her sister, the institution that had covered up whatever drove Min-ah to that rainy rooftop.
Her mission had truly begun, and the enemy was everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Welcome to Class 1-A," Professor Kang announced, his voice carrying the perfect blend of authority and warmth. "I trust you're all prepared for an exceptional year at Hankuk Elite Academy."
Beside her, Hee-chul continued his whispered commentary, apparently undeterred by the teacher's arrival. Soo-jin resigned herself to a long day indeed the first of many in her quest for truth and justice for her sister.